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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29558373">Interrupting Moose Wh</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective'>AnnetheCatDetective</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5 Times, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel is Saved from the Empty (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dom Castiel (Supernatural), Dom/sub Undertones, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Interrupting Sam Winchester, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Sam Winchester, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sexy Shooting Lesson, Submissive Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:20:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,388</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29558373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, five times Sam obliviously interrupted a moment before it could begin, and one time nothing could stop it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>255</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Reunion</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Interrupting Moose Wh</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/moiraes/gifts">moiraes</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I.</p><p> </p><p>    Dean’s hand is healed, but Cas doesn’t let go right away this time, just turns it over between his own-- <em> big</em>, Dean thinks, <em> warm</em>-- and trails his fingertips over the places where he’d knit bone back together, repaired tears to skin and muscle. As if he can still see how mangled it used to be.</p><p> </p><p>    “Thanks.” Dean says, his voice catching just a little. </p><p>   </p><p>    “As always, it was my pleasure to do it.” Cas says, with a little shrug that verges on just being a tic of his head to the side. With a little smile that’s not quite relaxed and never seems to last long enough, the kind you don’t even see if you’re not looking.</p><p> </p><p>    His touch is gentle, still tracing over and over the hand he’s healed, like he’s healing it still. Dean’s all goosebumps over it, all stomach-butterflies and funny little heart palpitations over it. </p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. Well.” He swallows, and leans in. Turns his hand to take Cas’, stilling him. Keeping him. “I still appreciate it.”</p><p> </p><p>    Cas’ smile softens, his gaze drops to Dean’s lips, and Dean feels his heart rate kick up a notch. This is going to happen, it’s really going to happen. Cas is so close, is looking at his mouth and holding his hand, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit terrified, sure, but it’s not like they haven’t been dancing around this since maybe that very first night in the barn. </p><p> </p><p>    He doesn’t know if he’s ready, but he doesn’t know if there is such a thing as ‘ready’ when you’re talking about getting kissed by your best friend who is a literal angel and you’ve been trying to pretend you’re not into men but he has the most beautiful mouth you’ve ever seen and you’ve maybe thought about whether or not his lips would feel soft against yours and every time you touch there’s this hunger that’s only got one explanation so you might as well man up and accept that explanation and get kissed…</p><p> </p><p>    “Were you hurt anywhere else?” Cas asks, clears his throat a little and looks down, and his eyelashes flutter just a little, in that moment before he meets Dean’s eyes again, and his are so earnest and so blue. He looks at Dean like he’s looking straight down to his soul, which is also something that’s been going on since the start, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable anymore. It feels safe.</p><p> </p><p>    “Uh, maybe, a little. Might’ve gotten bumped, here…” He prods at the back of his head with his free hand-- yup, there’s a bump, hadn’t seemed important when his hand was all torn up and bleeding but it stings now, when he pokes it.</p><p>   </p><p>    Cas’ hand comes up after his, replaces it at the back of his head, and everything’s warm a moment and that sting melts right away, leaving Cas’ hand cupped around the base of his skull.</p><p> </p><p>    “Anywhere else?”</p><p> </p><p>    Dean’s stomach twists. He won’t, he realizes, without permission, he won’t if Dean doesn’t ask, for all the things he can see in him he isn’t sure of this, but he has to want it, doesn’t he?</p><p> </p><p>    Can he ask? He doesn’t know how to say yes to this, he’s never been prepared for saying yes to this. But he’s holding Cas’ hand and Cas is holding him steady, and he’s beautiful, beautiful…</p><p> </p><p>    “Here.” He whispers, and he’s just about to point out his lips, just about to put it all out there and hope Cas picks up on it, caution to the wind, he’s just about to fucking ask when--</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, hey, you guys are back.” Sam’s voice is so <em> loud </em> after the gentle lull they’d fallen into, and suddenly Cas is on the other side of the table, looking studiously at old notes. “How’d it go?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Fine.” Dean gets to his feet. “I gotta-- I’m gonna go-- laundry. Get the bloodstains out. Anyone wants to throw something in, grab it now. Cas?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Thank you, no, I’ll handle my own bloodstains, no need to trouble yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>    Right.</p><p> </p><p>    Great.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>II.</p><p> </p><p>    “You’re all right… you’re all right.” Dean’s hands are on his face, and the world is still fuzzy beyond him. He’d expended a lot of energy to get them to safety this time, but… well, Cas can hardly find it in himself to complain now. </p><p> </p><p>    “Dean… are you?” He reaches up, finds Dean’s wrist and holds on, the only thing he can do. </p><p> </p><p>    Dean laughs, his head falls forward to gently bunt against Cas’. “Am I? Am I all right? <em> Dude</em>. You just <em> blasted </em> those clowns and-- and I don’t even <em> know </em> where you brought us. Yeah, I’m fine. You’re just a little punch-drunk there, pal. You feeling solid yet?”</p><p> </p><p>    “No.” He squeezes Dean’s wrist. “Distinctly not.”</p><p>   </p><p>    His eyes are beautiful… so close, so warm. <em> Green</em>, not just any green, but the green of sunlight filtering through the leaves in the heart of some untouched forest. There’s such kindness in them, there’s such gentleness in the way he treats Cas now, as if he weren’t some great and terrible, nigh-invulnerable entity, but a person. Worthy of consideration, in need of it… There’s warmth in the way Dean smiles at him, and such a soft, strange awe. He doesn’t have names for all the things he feels, when Dean looks at him that way. When Dean touches him this way…</p><p> </p><p>    “That’s okay. You can rest.” He strokes at Cas’ cheek, their noses nearly touch, Cas brings his other hand up, shaky, still shaky, his thumb finds the edge of Dean’s grin and traces it to a dimple. </p><p> </p><p>    “Holy shit.” Sam pushes himself to sit, a blur at the corner of his peripheral vision. Oh, right. He’d brought Sam to safety, too. Of course he had, it’s not like he ever would have left him. “I feel like I left my stomach behind on that one.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Your stomach is right where it has always been, between your liver and your large intestine.” Cas scowls. “I did not leave it behind.”</p><p> </p><p>    “No, I know. I just… Um, yeah. You okay, Cas?”</p><p> </p><p>    But he’s not, because Dean is no longer cradling his face.</p><p> </p><p>    “I’m fine.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>III.</p><p>   </p><p>    “Well, howdy, stranger.” Dean’s mouth feels dry. Which is stupid, because it’s <em> Cas</em>, it’s only Cas.</p><p> </p><p>    “Was I away from you that long?” There’s just the hint of a smile, a certain sparkle to his eyes, a tilt of his head that’s just…</p><p> </p><p>    It’s so familiar and it’s so right, and maybe Cas wasn’t away long, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t feel long. It always does. More than that, it’s the way he says ‘from you’... like it’s not about being away from the bunker, from whatever the quest du jour might be, from anybody else but Dean.</p><p> </p><p>    “<em>You </em> didn’t think the Hundred Years’ War was that long.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I wasn’t there for the Hun--”</p><p>   </p><p>    “And it’s right in the name. Long time to us puny mortals.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Very well. But I wasn’t away for a hundred years. I wasn’t away for a hundred <em> days</em>. Three hundred hours-- well, three hundred and thirty hours, and ten minutes. And--”</p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t need the seconds.” Dean steps forward, his hand covering Cas’ mouth, which he should lean away from or protest, but he doesn’t. His lips are soft against Dean’s palm. His breath is warm. “You were away long enough.”</p><p> </p><p>    Cas’ hand wraps around his, bringing it down from his mouth, though for another moment, he doesn’t say anything. Just looks deep into Dean’s eyes like he’s looking through him and every single desire Dean’s ever had is laid out before him. Does he know how close he’s come before, to starting something? Has he scared off from it too easy, made Cas think he wasn’t ready, wasn’t serious? Does he know how bad he <em> wants </em> to be?</p><p> </p><p>    And could this be that moment, now that he’s here again?</p><p> </p><p>    “I see. My apologies.” His smile deepens. It still barely tugs his mouth into a curve, but it fills his eyes. Warm. Knowing. “What did you need from me?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Hm?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I came because you prayed I would.”</p><p> </p><p>    He can feel the heat fill his face, and travel down his neck, can feel it stifling and itchy beneath the collar. Can feel the sweat on his palms from it. </p><p> </p><p>    “Didn’t need anything.” He shoves his hands into his pockets with an easy shrug that’s not fooling anybody. Because if there’s one thing he’s damn good at-- after ganking evil-- it’s blowing his chances with Cas.</p><p> </p><p>    He had been just-drunk-enough, and sentimental. He’d flipped past a movie on TV where Cary Grant had been talking about how lonely it is never to feel the heat or the cold or anything else, he hadn’t meant to… He hadn’t meant to pray to Castiel. He hadn’t had anything to ask for, beyond ‘come home safe’. He hadn’t realized he was sending something that would go through.</p><p> </p><p>    “I see. Well, here I am, regardless. Is there anything that you <em> do </em> want?”</p><p> </p><p>    In Dean’s fantasies, that question has gone a million different ways. Or, it’s gone a couple of ways a million times. In his fantasies, when Cas asks what he can do for him, Dean is cool and he’s suave and he says there is something, he steps into Cas’ space, maybe crowds him against a wall, and he kisses him, and it’s slow and it’s deep, and he’s in control.</p><p> </p><p>    In Dean’s better fantasies, Cas asks what Dean needs, and he just says ‘you’. He falls to his knees, promises it’s Cas’ turn to ask anything of him, because he always asks too much and he never makes it about what Cas needs, but doesn’t Cas have needs? And in those fantasies, the ones he does his best not to think too hard about, Cas has <em> needs</em>. </p><p> </p><p>    “No. I mean-- maybe some company? I was just gonna… hang out. Maybe get something done in the kitchen, or watch a movie, no real plans. But you’re welcome to stick around.”</p><p> </p><p>    In Dean’s best fantasies, Cas doesn’t even ask. He shows up and says he heard Dean’s prayer, and Dean says ‘what prayer?’, because he didn’t realize shouting an angel’s name while in a state of ecstasy alone in the shower counted as prayer, and by this point Cas has stripped him from the waist down and bent him over the nearest piece of furniture and his tongue is…</p><p> </p><p>    Dean shuts those fantasies down fast, feeling hot and guilty and uncomfortable. Usually. </p><p> </p><p>    It’s one thing to fantasize about getting fucked-- sure, he used to be ashamed of it whenever the thought crossed his mind, but that was… That was then, this is now. He’s come to grips with himself a little more. And it’s <em> fair</em>, if he’s going to imagine fucking Cas, to imagine getting fucked too. Not like his fantasies involve drawing up a schedule about whose turn it is, but he thinks it’s fair if they check in with each other, just to say ‘hey, you want it the same as last time or do you want to switch?’, he thinks that’s a reasonable thing to imagine they would do if they were together like that. And he doesn’t have to worry about what he wants if he just puts it all under a big umbrella of ‘we’d try different things and Cas can choose’. Safe.</p><p> </p><p>    Thinking about that other thing, he’s not quite there with. It feels selfish and kind of filthy and he can never decide if it’s the good kind of filthy or not, but he has to admit to himself, if not to anyone else, that it’s a fantasy that’s <em> started </em> quite a few times. </p><p> </p><p>    “You’re absolutely sure, that there’s nothing that I can do for you?” Cas asks, honey and gravel, a voice so low and sweet that Dean could almost believe he wants him to ask, that he’s thinking about it, too, that all he needs is for Dean to say please, please do just one thing for me and I promise it’ll be good for you, too…</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, hey, Cas.” Sam’s voice douses the building heat immediately. “When’d you get back?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Just now. I was only gone for three hundred and thirty hours, ten minutes--”</p><p> </p><p>    “Okay, okay.” He laughs. “Didn’t mean to interrogate you there, man. You sticking around? We could do a movie night.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>IV.</p><p> </p><p>    Sam had left some time ago, leaving the two of them to a game he had no desire to be a part of, wargaming miniatures spread out across the map table. Dean had come to him with a dusty box of the things, and Cas hadn’t even asked where he’d found them, he’d just leapt to set them up, and to hash out the rules of combat. </p><p> </p><p>    The scale is imperfect, of course, but the table still adds a certain something. </p><p> </p><p>    “You sure about that?” Dean asks, before taking a long pull from his beer. Lips pink and plump around the neck of the bottle, and the way he sighs after he’s swallowed, the way his head falls back… He sets the beer aside and shakes himself out a little, before returning to the table to make his own next move. </p><p> </p><p>    Cas merely leans back in his seat, watching Dean circle the table, examining the pieces in play, and folds his hands.</p><p> </p><p>    “I’m sure. And what would you like to do about it?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, oh, he’s confident!” He laughs, moving his own pieces around. “Okay, tough guy. Let’s keep this going, you wanna compete? Let’s compete.”</p><p> </p><p>    “We are already competing.”</p><p> </p><p>    “We’re adding stakes, Cas. Winner gets… hmm…” He comes around to stand toe to toe with Cas, though Cas is not in the least intimidated to have Dean tower over him. He doesn’t think intimidation is the point-- challenge, yes. That’s part of the game. Dean reaches down and fixes his tie, gives him that soft little lip-biting grin. “Winner gets to ask the loser for a favor, to be determined… whensoever he chooses.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Do I make a habit of refusing you favors?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well… no.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Had you intended to refuse me one?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Not like fate-of-the-world favors!” He rolls his eyes. “I mean… you know, just a… little <em> favor</em>. Like… maybe I win and I ask you to run an errand for me, or… you win and I have to clean your room--”</p><p> </p><p>    “My room doesn’t need--”</p><p> </p><p>    “The point is!” Dean places a finger to his lips, and Cas freezes. “You could ask me to do something that isn’t about Heaven, or Hell, or monsters, or <em> destiny</em>. You could ask me to just… <em> do </em> something for you. Help you with something normal, or-- or just… do something because you <em>want</em> me to.”</p><p> </p><p>    He seems to realize he’s touching Cas’ mouth, and he pulls back, shoves his hands in his pockets.</p><p> </p><p>    “So… you agree that I seem poised to win the favor from you?” Cas rises, scooting his own pieces where he wants them, and removing one of Dean’s ballista units from the field. “You shouldn’t have left this open to attack. Your forces on this continent are going to suffer considerably from this loss.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I mean hypothetically. So you just think about what you want.” Dean scowls at him, but there’s no real upset in it. He remains in Cas’ personal space even as Cas retakes his chair, bends over the table and pauses to stretch, arching his back between moves. “Thinking about it?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Thinking about what?” Cas tears his eyes away from Dean’s backside, but it’s not easy, when it’s right there at eye level, and it’s so… </p><p> </p><p>    “Thinking about what you <em> want</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>    He says it like he knows what Cas wants… he leaves another valuable piece open to attack, and Cas <em> knows </em> Dean is a better tactician than that.</p><p> </p><p>    He rises and leans over him, lips at his ear.</p><p> </p><p>    “<em>Don’t</em>.” He whispers, his voice low, and Dean shivers.</p><p> </p><p>    “Don’t what?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Don’t hand me an easy win. If I didn’t want a challenge, I would play with someone else.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Like who?” Dean snorts, and it’s a good point, but still…</p><p> </p><p>    He reaches down and puts the piece back where it was. Dean smells like leather, and peppermint soap. Like coffee and clean flannel. Like skin, warm. Tempting. </p><p> </p><p>    “<em>Try again</em>. Try <em> better</em>. When I win, it’s going to be because I beat you fairly.”</p><p> </p><p>    “All right, all right. ‘When’ you win, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>    “That is what I said.” He can feel the tug of a smile at his lips, and he stays where he is, keeping Dean all but pinned in place against the table, watching over his shoulder as he makes the more cautious move, as he does a little damage to Cas’ forces. “But it’s not fun if you don’t put up a fight.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Is that so?”</p><p> </p><p>    And that has to be on purpose, the purr to his voice, the way he shifts, just enough to nudge back against Cas’ hips, it has to be that he wants what Cas does…</p><p> </p><p>    “You guys still haven’t finished that game?” Sam asks, loping into the room with his open laptop balanced carefully across his forearm. </p><p> </p><p>    “Apparently not.” Cas straightens up and backs away from Dean. </p><p> </p><p>    That is what it is, isn’t it? A game they’re never going to finish…</p><p> </p><p>    “Okay, well get this…”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>V.</p><p> </p><p>    This time he’s going to do it. Sam’s inside, probably asleep-- it’s a sensible hour for it, though even with the safety of the bunker and his beautiful memory foam mattress, Dean can rarely get more than five at hours consecutively. Too used to not getting it, or not being able to, too used to having to sneak around in the middle of the night, too used to catching catnaps… </p><p> </p><p>    But that’s fine, because it means tonight he’s <em> here</em>, outside with Cas, the two of them lying on Baby’s hood and watching the stars, and tonight’s the night. </p><p> </p><p>    Every time the moment breaks, it shakes Dean’s confidence. Every time Cas leaves the bubble of his immediate personal space, or worse, leaves the room, because something’s happened to spoil the building <em> something </em> between them, the doubt’s got room to creep back in and Dean can’t work his way back up, can’t just go after him and say what he needs to, or…</p><p> </p><p>    So tonight he’s not letting anything ruin the moment. </p><p> </p><p>    “It’s sure something, ain’t it?” Dean asks, turning to take in Cas’ profile just a moment. “Being out here where you can see all those stars.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Mm. They look very different, from Earth. I mean, different from how they look… away. From Earth.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You been out to circle any other stars, Cas?”</p><p> </p><p>    “No. But… I have seen them in passing. Outside of the atmosphere. The… the distances are the same, the orientation, when you’re still within this system, but they still look… different. At least, they do to me. But perhaps my experience is not universal.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well, I don’t know anyone else who’s been outside Earth’s atmosphere, so… who can say? They still pretty nice, though? From here?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Beautiful. More beautiful.” Cas murmurs, his voice soft. “Everything here is more beautiful, than anywhere else in existence.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah?” Dean smiles. Overhead, there’s a brief, bright streak, and he can’t think of a better sign from above to get a move on. He turns carefully onto his side. “Hey. Make a wish.”</p><p> </p><p>    Cas doesn’t respond. Cas is unnaturally still-- even for Cas-- save the rapid, shallow rise and fall of his chest. </p><p> </p><p>    “Cas?” Dean frowns. <em> Shit</em>, wrong move. Of course Cas doesn’t think about making wishes on shooting stars-- he thinks about Falling. Dean’s pulling out cheesy pick-up routines trying to get a kiss, and Cas is having fucking war flashbacks. “Hey. Come on.”</p><p> </p><p>    He startles out of it, at Dean’s touch. Lets himself be led back inside.</p><p> </p><p>    “Sorry. For a moment there, I was… I’m sorry. Everything was… nice. And then I--” He turns away, swallowing. </p><p> </p><p>    “It’s okay. Hey, I know what you need.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I just… It seems whenever I begin to settle, I’m reminded of my past failures. And I don’t think there’s any making up for everything I’ve done. And I appreciate the thought, Dean, but it would take an astounding amount of alcohol to affect me now, and I’m really not worth that kind of waste.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You’d be worth it if I had to buy out a friggin’ brewery. But no. That’s not what I had in mind.” He gives Cas the gentlest smile he can manage, patting his shoulder. “Come with me. We’re gonna fix this.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Fix what?”</p><p> </p><p>    “You feel… you feel like you don’t have control, right? Like there’s nothing you can do. You’re remembering stuff that’s behind us and you’re all caught up in regretting it, like you weren’t trying to do right at the time.”</p><p> </p><p>    “The universe certainly has a way of reminding me.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Believe me, I know. You think I don’t cause my fair share of damage? You think I don’t make ugly mistakes sometimes? You think I fix everything I ever broke?”</p><p> </p><p>    “I think you try.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Well. So do you. And I know I get mad when you’re the one dropping the ball. And I know I’m not always fair about it. And-- and I know we got a complicated history between the two of us, on a, a cosmic level, and we’ve seen some <em> shit </em> and sometimes we’re the ones who start the ball rolling and it <em> sucks</em>. But we gotta move forward.”</p><p> </p><p>    Cas follows him through the bunker, until they reach the shooting range, watches as Dean picks out a gun, as he loads it on autopilot.</p><p> </p><p>    “C’mere.”</p><p> </p><p>    “What--?”</p><p> </p><p>    “C’mere. What? I’m not gonna bite you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “You want me to… shoot firearms until I feel better?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. I mean if alcohol doesn’t work for you… Look, there’s only so many tools in the Winchester toolbox. But this one works.”</p><p> </p><p>    “I’m still not very proficient…”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. That’s the point. You’re gonna get better. You and me… maybe we can’t change what we did in the past, or who it hurt then. And I got regrets, you know, people I wish I didn’t hurt, I know… I know piling the guilt on. And there’s a hell of a lot out there neither of us can control. But we can control this, here, now. You can control whether or not you <em> get </em> proficient. So we’re gonna stay up, and go through as many different guns as you want, or as few, and we’re not leaving until you’re happy with you.”</p><p> </p><p>    “We could be down here a very long time.”</p><p> </p><p>    “That’s okay.” Dean smiles again, reaching up to gently nudge a couple knuckles up under Cas’ chin. “It’s not about how often you hit the target and whether it’s a kill shot or you’re just winging it, it’s about whether you feel like you made progress. You don’t gotta impress me. Don’t even worry about me. Don’t worry about anything. Just… focus on something you can improve.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Like my proficiency with a firearm.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah. Like that. I mean-- and I could help you, if you wanted. Give you some pointers with… You know, I’m here to help.”</p><p> </p><p>    “All right.” Cas nods. “Show me this one.”</p><p> </p><p>    Dean places the gun in Cas’ hand, talks him through everything once before even asking him to aim, the two of them holding it between them a long moment, fingers meeting over the trigger guard. If he couldn’t run through it all on autopilot, he’s not sure he’d be much help. </p><p> </p><p>    He can’t change that their night went a little off the rails. But he can do this-- he can put things back on track. </p><p> </p><p>    “Remember, it’s a smooth motion. You’re not just pulling the trigger, you’re squeezing down. You let up after the shot goes off. Think you got it?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yes.” Cas nods, though he regards the gun with a little trepidation once Dean’s hand is gone. </p><p> </p><p>    And okay, so sue him, he entertains a fantasy of guiding him into proper position, maybe leaving his hands on Cas’ hips, maybe pressing up close to him and whispering encouragement in his ear…</p><p> </p><p>    Cas is steady enough and his posture’s good, but his first couple of shots still go wide, and he’s scowly over it, and the point of this whole thing isn’t to make Cas feel frustrated, it’s to let him feel in control of something. </p><p> </p><p>    “I don’t think this is the right one for me.” He says at last, carefully setting the gun down. </p><p> </p><p>    “Okay. Okay, you come pick.” Dean nods, leading him over to where there’s a nice array of guns for target practice, as well as a couple of throwing axes. Which… interesting. Definitely a ‘come back to later’. “That’s a better idea. A man’s relationship with his firearm of choice is a deep, personal thing, you gotta get a feel for it.”</p><p> </p><p>    Cas gives him a wan smile at that, picking up each handgun in turn. </p><p> </p><p>    “How do I load this one?” He asks.</p><p> </p><p>    Dean lets out a whistle. “Nice choice. Here-- may I?”</p><p> </p><p>    Cas nods and surrenders the .45, watching closely as Dean loads and unloads it, so that he can do the same.</p><p> </p><p>    “This feels good.” He says, returning to his spot and taking aim.</p><p> </p><p>    “You wanna be careful, ‘cause she kicks like a mule, but--” Dean starts, only for Cas to squeeze down on the trigger. The recoil doesn’t move him an <em> inch</em>. He doesn’t even look like he <em> noticed </em> it.</p><p> </p><p>    Suave Fantasy Dean has left the frigging building, leaving only Slack Jawed And Half Erect Dean.</p><p> </p><p>    “That’s… good.” He gulps.</p><p> </p><p>    “Yes, it seems my accuracy has improved slightly. I am more comfortable with this, it feels… sturdier. Though I am still mindful, they have so many delicate moving parts… not like a blade.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Wait… are you saying… the problem with guns is… you’re worried about accidentally <em> breaking </em> them?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Unfamiliarity with the mechanics of it is also an issue, as is aim and factoring for resistance and gravity, but yes. My first encounter with one, it was… you’ll laugh.” Cas flashes him a bashful smile. “The gentleman was trying to teach me how to use one, but it was this… this little thing. A great deal of art and engineering had gone into it, but, when it went off-- not being used to them?-- I squeezed down suddenly, and…”</p><p> </p><p>    “You crushed a gun.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Accidentally. It was very embarrassing.” Cas chuckles, like this isn’t turning Dean’s world on its head. He sets the .45 down.</p><p> </p><p>    “And you were worried about crushing that one.”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yes. But the larger size and greater power of this one makes me feel more confident. I felt confident I wouldn’t accidentally destroy the shotgun, but it doesn’t offer the same level of control, when the point is to hone my accuracy. Which is silly, I know, because of course I am squally capable of destroying a larger gun, but it’s the psychology of the thing, I guess. The more something appears to be delicate, the more one worries about whether it could be broken. And knowing to expect some recoil means I no longer… you know.”</p><p> </p><p>    “So, say you and me are in a bank. Robber comes in with a shotgun, everyone else hits the floor, you could just… just completely destroy it?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>    “How come you didn’t, then?”</p><p>   </p><p>    “We were never in a bank robbery…” Cas narrows his eyes, confused. </p><p> </p><p>    “When we met, when I blasted you a bunch of times.”</p><p> </p><p>    He cocks his head to the side and gives Dean that look, that ‘why you funny little creature’ look that’s just fond enough not to be insulting on principle, and just insulting-on-principle enough to be kind of hot in a way Dean was not always ready to deal with. He’s not sure there’s any way to discreetly adjust himself, but at this point if Cas looks down, his cover’s blown no matter what he does. </p><p> </p><p>    “Why would I do that?” He asks, brow drawn. </p><p> </p><p>    “Because I shot you?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Dean.” And Cas smiles at him like they’re sharing a secret, and Cas’ hand takes his shoulder, warm. <em> That’s the hand that could have destroyed the shotgun he’d had like it was nothing</em>. </p><p> </p><p>    <em> That’s the hand that saved him</em>.</p><p> </p><p>    Dean isn’t sure which one is making him lightheaded now.</p><p> </p><p>    “Cas…”</p><p> </p><p>    “I would not take away the tool you need to defend yourself. Even if it had hurt me. It didn't, by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>    He’s reaching up towards Dean’s cheek, Dean’s experiencing it in slow motion, Cas is reaching for his face, is <em> gripping him tight</em>, when the door opens loudly and a thunderous yawn interrupts the quiet.</p><p> </p><p>    “Oh, hey.” Sam says, as they move apart. “You, too?”</p><p> </p><p>    “What what?” Dean asks. He still feels a little lightheaded, but at least now he can’t chalk it up to all his blood rushing to the wrong head, because that fire’s been doused yet again by <em> Alces Alces Interruptus</em>.</p><p> </p><p>    “Couldn’t sleep, decided to get in some target practice?”</p><p> </p><p>    “Yeah.” Dean yawns. “I’m just… just about ready to turn in, though. You have fun.”</p><p> </p><p>    And okay, so he’s slinking out again, so he’s a damn coward… so what else is new?</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>I.b</p><p> </p><p>    Everything is disorienting for a long moment, and too bright, and then he’s…</p><p> </p><p>    Alive?</p><p> </p><p>    Close enough to it.</p><p> </p><p>    Cas rushes for the stairs before he even has his land legs back, he takes them two at a time. Dean’s name is leaving his lips before he thinks to call to him.</p><p> </p><p>    <em> Dean</em>.</p><p> </p><p>    The sight of him stops Cas dead in his tracks, he goes from a headlong run to standing stock still, breathless. Dean, turned towards him, afraid to hope and then, slowly, believing the evidence of his own ears and eyes. Dean, <em> blindingly </em>beautiful. </p><p> </p><p>    <em> Dean</em>.</p><p> </p><p>    “Dean…” This time he barely croaks the name out, his knees threaten to give for a moment before he finds the strength to move again, and they’re rushing each other now, slamming into an embrace. </p><p> </p><p>    “<em>Cas</em>.” Dean gasps, squeezes him so hard. Dean’s cheek is pressed to his, Dean’s stubble catches on his, and then he’s turning, his open mouth pressed at the corner of Cas’ lips, he’s sobbing through an inelegant first kiss. “I thought I--”</p><p> </p><p>    “<em>Dean</em>.” Cas re-angles his head properly, and kisses back, one hand sliding up to the back of Dean’s head, the other hanging onto a fistful of his shirt a moment before spreading wide across his lower back, keeping his body pressed close-- not that it seems in any danger of un-pressing itself from him.</p><p> </p><p>    “I thought I’d never see you again.”</p><p> </p><p>    Dean’s trembling in his arms now, still clinging tight, still pressing close. He lays his head against Cas’, chin on his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>    “So did I.” Cas admits, stroking his back. It does little to calm him, but then… can Cas blame him for that? “I thought…”</p><p> </p><p>    He snorts, shaking his head, and he kisses Dean again, a constellation of soft kisses to his cheek. </p><p> </p><p>    “I thought I would never hold you.” He admits at last, in a whisper, nuzzling at Dean’s ear. “I thought I would never see you again… I thought you were lost to me forever.”</p><p> </p><p>    “<em>I </em> was lost to <em> you</em>?” Dean laughs, or he weeps. Both. “Buddy, where have you been?”</p><p> </p><p>    “The Empt--”</p><p> </p><p>    “No, don’t-- I mean-- <em> You’re </em> the one who was lost, I’m the one who lost you. I lost you… Cas, I--”</p><p> </p><p>    “Holy <em> shit</em>, Cas?”</p><p> </p><p>    Cas’ hold on Dean tightens, when Sam comes rushing in. He doesn’t know what to do with how he feels when Dean squeezes back.</p><p> </p><p>    Sam does insist upon turning it into a group hug situation, and Cas allows it-- much as he wants a private reunion, he and Sam have been friends a long time, and Sam also missed him. He takes one arm from around Dean, to return Sam’s hug a little, before drawing back-- and scooping Dean up into his arms.</p><p> </p><p>    “It’s good to be back, thank you, but I’m afraid I’ll have to catch up with you later, Sam. I have a very pressing matter to deal with, in your brother’s room.”</p><p> </p><p>    “What do you-- Wait-- <em> What</em>?” Sam sputters, but Cas doesn’t stick around to appreciate the humor of his facial expression. </p><p> </p><p>    He’s finally got Dean, after all.</p>
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